Cancer

By kate on February 11th, 1999

I don’t really know how to warm up to this, so I’ll just say it: I have always believed I will get cancer. I think this comes from my belief in balance. The clearest of my (generally unformed) spiritual beliefs is that the universe values balance. I think good and bad things balance out, even if we can’t always point to a good thing and say, “this is what makes up for that assault last week.” I don’t want to get too much into my general belief, but let me say I prefer to use it as a view of smaller events instead of on a global scale.

Smaller events, like my life. I have always been lucky. By this I mean not only have I been materially comfortable and well-taken-care-of (I have), but I’ve been really and truly lucky. I mean, I have lost count of the rare coincidences that have shaped my life. So many that I have come to believe that everything that happens to me happens for a reason, and I usually find the reason. I won’t get into examples here, just trust me that over and over, I have been lucky. Not in a winning-the-lotto kind of way, just in a getting-a-job kind of way, or a meeting-a-person kind of way.

Having such a charmed life, and at the same time believing in balance, makes me believe deep down that the other shoe is going to drop eventually. Something “should” happen to me that is bad enough to counterbalance all my luck, and for some reason I have always thought it would be cancer.

Why cancer? Simply getting hit by a bus and suddenly killed would not be bad enough. I have no major regrets, really, and I would hardly feel anything, except a brief moment of terror perhaps. People who know me would be sad, but I wouldn’t have to experience it or prepare for it.

With cancer, I’d have to break the news of my death myself. I’d be faced with the colossal task of “putting my affairs in order.” I’d have no excuse to leave any loose ends. I’d be forced to evaluate my life, decide what is lacking, and try to cram it into my reduced life expectancy. My family and friends would be put through the emotional and time-consuming ordeal of supporting me and coping. It would be painful.

I’m already a little bit of a hypochondriac, and this doesn’t help. Now everytime something mysterious is wrong with me, I think, “well, this’ll be the cancer.” It’s not as if I’m being particularly morbid. I’m not hoping for this or dwelling on it much (except for right now). It’s just always there in the back of my mind, reminding me to live my life well, so I don’t have a lot to fix when the diagnosis finally comes.